


sul ponticello

by Lysaanderr



Category: TwoSet, Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: M/M, Moving On, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysaanderr/pseuds/Lysaanderr
Summary: Brett has graduated and is ready to start his new life with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. He moves away from his hometown but finds that some things follow you anyway.
Relationships: Hyung Suk Bae/Brett Yang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	sul ponticello

**Author's Note:**

> Sul ponticello describes a technique where some or all of the bow hair is actually bowing on the bridge that results in a noisy sound.
> 
> Inspired by an Instagram post where Brett posted a picture of Hyung with the caption "Mr. Cello what drink would u like?"

Brett hoisted himself up and braced a knee on his seat. He leaned against the headrest, peering back at the row diagonally behind him. The light from the circular plane window cut across the smooth surface of grey plastic and gleamed along the silhouette of an angular jaw. Brett lazily raised his phone and snapped a picture. 

_Mr. Cello what drink would u like?_ He typed. His thumb hovered over his screen for a moment but he thought, _whatever_ , and posted it. Hyung hadn't even looked up from his own phone.

Other passengers were still shuffling onboard, and the clatter of overhead cabins slamming shut was making Brett's head throb. He slid back into his seat and sent Eddy a text.

_taking off soon_

_ye i kno i can see ur plane from the observation deck_

_rly??_

Brett craned his neck around to see if he could look out from any of the plane windows. He didn't usually pick the window seat; that was Eddy's thing but damnit, now he couldn't see out. Hyung looked up at the same moment, and their eyes met. Brett jerked his head in a nod. Hyung's lips twitched in a smile and he mimed raising a wine glass, tilting his head back slightly. Brett's gaze followed the line of Hyung's neck, the bob of his adam's apple. Just then, the inflight speakers blared with its usual takeoff warnings to turn off cellphones and electronic devices. Brett blinked and looked back down at his phone. He settled into his seat and interrupted the three flashing dots that showed that Eddy was typing.

_gtg byeeeee_

The flashing dots disappeared. There was a slight pause, then:

_ok ttyl <3 <3_

Brett snorted but stared at the last message Eddy sent for a moment longer. And another moment. And another. Then Susan dropped into the seat next to him with a squeal. Brett jumped and flipped the screen of his phone face down against his thigh. He held onto the power button, thought of Eddy's message flickering into black, felt the buzz of the phone powering down.

"Heeeey, Brett!" Susan elbowed him in the side. "First tour! You excited?" 

Brett returned the beaming smile directed at him. "Yeah!" 

\-----

When the flight landed, everything passed in a flurry of activity. The harried director darted around, sheaf of papers in hand, doing a headcount and trying to get the symphony members to move along. Everyone was busy making sure they had everything, and Brett lounged by a pillar near the conveyor belt, watching for his luggage. He kept his violin cradled in his arms, resting his chin on the top of the case.

Brett picked out Hyung among the ebb and flow of the throng; the cellist was turned away, chatting to someone else. Hyung had one arm slung easily around the cello case looming next to him.

Brett thought about waving but didn’t move. His arms remained curled around his violin. Hyung shifted his weight, the cello tilting with him, then moved his head, just a slight movement, and caught sight of Brett. Brett thought about waving.

Hyung was the one who raised his hand instead.

\----------

Most of the orchestra members had most definitely gone out to celebrate their first night on tour and he most definitely had too much to drink. Brett rested his forehead against the wall and took a few deep breaths. He shouldn't have taken Susan up on any challenge, whether or not alcohol was involved. She was a percussionist, for crying out loud. 

He squinted at the hallway stretching out before him. The identical rows of doors blurred in his vision. _What's my room number again?_ Brett fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it before he managed to unlock the screen. His numb finger jabbed at the screen and the phone lit up in a call. _Oh shit._

"Hello?" Eddy's tinny voice came from the speaker.

"Eddy?" Brett forced his heavy tongue to shape the familiar sound. The phone felt like a brick against his ear, warm and heavy.

"Hey, Brett! What's up? Isn't it late over there?"

"No, no," Brett shook his head and lowered the phone from his face. He looked at Eddy's name, stark on the screen. _No, not you. Not now._

"I thought there's a time difference of at least--"

Brett hung up.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and raked a hand through his hair. _Not now._ Wasn't he an orchestra member now? Out in the world, on tour with his symphony, living it up. _Fresh start, new me_ , he reminded himself.

He glanced around again. _Shit, I still don't know where I am. But..._

_He remembered standing in the lobby when they were checking in earlier that day. The late afternoon light stained the marble floor orange and the reflected shine made Brett's eyes water. He lowered his eyes, lifting a hand to shade them. A pair of large red and white sneakers stepped into view and Brett peered between his fingers._

_"Yo."_

_Brett looked up at Hyung and grinned. " 'Sup?"_

_"You all checked in? Which floor you on? I'm in--"_

_Right. 2355._ Brett slapped his cheeks. He checked the burnished gold numbers on the doors; he was already on the correct floor. Brett wandered down the hallway; the carpeted floor muffled the sound of his dragging feet. 

_There!_ Brett slapped himself in the face again in victory and started hammering on the door. It took what felt like a good long eternity before the door opened. Brett froze with his fist in midair as Hyung glowered down at him. 

"Brett? What are you doing here?"

Brett stared. _Why WAS he here?_ Hyung stared. Brett blinked. Hyung didn't.

Brett put an arm up against the door frame, wobbling in what he hoped was a seductive way. "Hey there," his voice cracked.

Hyung rolled his eyes. "Get in here, lightweight."

Hyung slipped an arm around Brett's waist and hauled him far enough into the room to shut the door. When the taller man let go and moved away, Brett silently thanked the laws of physics; the friction between the back of his jacket and the mirror he was pressed against was all that kept him upright. For now.

"We were wondering where you were," Brett finally came up with an excuse. His voice was hoarse and the words didn’t quite make it out clearly.

"Oh?" Hyung waved a hand. "Just wanted to chill for a bit." Hyung eyed Brett and then walked over to the other side of the room to draw the curtains, leaving Brett propped up by the closet mirror.

"So? Where's that drink?"

"What?"

"Weren't you offering to buy me a drink?" Hyung lowered himself into the couch by the window and crossed a leg—very elegantly, Brett thought—over the other. Brett staggered away from the mirror and pointed himself at the middle of the hotel room. He tried to sit down on the edge of the bed and missed. But,hey, he was nothing but persistent, right? So he clawed himself up from the floor and tried again. And again. Brett found himself marvelling at how idioms could actually be true. _Third time’s the charm!_

"Right," Brett's voice was muffled, face down on the duvet. Stupid brain. Stupid post. "Next time."

Hyung grunted in derision. Then, "What about Eddy?"

Brett propped himself up on his elbows, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "What about him?"

Hyung met Brett's gaze for a good full beat. Brett hoped fervently that Hyung would suffer sudden memory loss. Then Hyung shrugged. "Yo, man. I'm just going to tell it to you straight," he paused. "Or not." 

Brett sat up just so he could pitch a pillow into the other man's face. And they devolved into a pillow fight. Brett hurled whatever he could grab and Hyung managed an impressive dodge and roll which brought him next to the couch where he armed himself with cushions. They went wild, alternatively screaming and swearing until someone from next door thumped furiously on the conjoining wall. Hyung got in one last shot with the bed runner, slinging it into Brett and knocking the smaller man flat back on the bed. Then Hyung flopped down beside him with a wheeze. 

"Weak violinist," Hyung huffed. Brett was laughing so hard he didn't even have it in him to mock-protest. His head still felt like someone had cranked open his skull and stuffed it full of wool but… He wriggled onto his side and nudged his glasses up to grind his knuckles into his eyes. Tears of laughter smeared across his cheeks.

"Look," Hyung took a deep breath. "I don't know all about what's going on between you guys," Hyung rolled over so he faced Brett. "But I know you haven't got it settled."

Brett kept his fingers curled over his face, fell still. Hyung sighed, reached over and gently tugged Brett's hands away. The calluses on the tips of Hyung's fingers scraped against the back of Brett's wrist, a roughness that was feather-light. 

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Hyung asked, and somehow, Brett knew what he was asking.

"Yes," The word sounded true on Brett's tongue; it even felt true. But it was a fragile truth, something soft and weak, and if—he could at least _think_ his name—Eddy had wanted that _yes_ to be something else, Brett would have dashed it against a wall and turned away without a second thought. 

"I mean, you've worked hard for it." Hyung continued. "And you made it." 

"Sure." Brett knew he sounded like a sullen child.

Hyung reached to turn off the room lights and then yanked the blanket over the both of them. "Get some rest, kiddo."

"We're the same fucking age," Brett sniffled into the pillow. 

In the quiet dark, Brett shuddered and Hyung pretended not to notice. The numbers on the bedside clock flashed as they changed, and Brett watched as the cool light of the morning crept in between the curtains.

\-------

Brett dropped into his chair and peered at the screen of his phone. "Yooooo."

"Yooooo!" Eddy echoed from halfway across the world. The other violinist tapped a finger against his mic. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah. Hope this Internet holds!"

"What was that last night? It was your night time, wasn't it?"

Brett waved a hand dismissively. "Butt dial. Sorry."

"Right." Eddy took a sip of his flat white—right, it was around noon in Brisbane so Eddy probably just woke up—eyeing Brett over the rim of his mug. 

Brett noted how Eddy held the mug with two hands, how the ring and pinky fingers of Eddy's left hand curved into the loop of the mug handle. Then he looked away.

"How's it going then? Having fun?" Eddy broke the little bubble of silence, setting his mug down with a clink. Brett hummed in affirmative and rocked back in his chair, twirling a pen in his fingers. 

"Bro, I'm so jealous!" Eddy stretched his arms out overhead and the hem of his shirt lifted slightly over the top of his jeans. Brett focused on the bookshelf behind Eddy. That room was as familiar to him as his own bedroom; they practiced there together, made random videos, created, had fun. It seemed like a childhood memory, even if the last time he was there was only, what, a week or two weeks ago. That room was where he told Eddy that he had gotten accepted into the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, that he was moving. They were both ecstatic. Why wouldn't they be? It was an accomplished dream, _the_ dream. But that room was already something far away, and Brett was the one who left.

"Hey, man, I know you called and everything but I gotta go," Brett stood, chair scraping back noisily.

"Oh," Eddy seemed startled and maybe it _was_ startling. Brett was usually pretty indulgent when it came to Eddy. "Okay. Yeah, talk soon! Bye!"

Brett couldn't speak around the lump forming in his throat so he waved, overly frantic and ended the call. He pressed his face into the palms of his hands, felt his breaths expand and contract in his lungs, trapped within the confines of his ribs. _I wanted this_ , he told himself. _No, I want this. Want this. Now._

His lie soaked into his skin and his breath fogged up his glasses and damp gathered on his cheeks. He wasn't actually sure how his face got so wet. Was this what it was like to have something you want? 

Brett peeled his hands away. He needed a drink.

\-------xxx-------

Brett found himself standing in front of Hyung's door again. This wasn't even the second or third or fourth time. At this point, he wondered why he bothered rooming with someone else. He felt bad about ditching his room buddy but still. That was his thing, right? Running away. Brett laughed, realized he was laughing out loud alone in a hotel hallway, and laughed again. The door opened before he could even knock.

"At least you can still play when you're boozed out of your mind," Hyung growled and dragged Brett by one arm to the sink. Hyung twisted the tap open, filled one of the little hotel room glass cups, and shoved it into Brett's face. 

It took two tries but Brett got the glass to his mouth and some sweet, sweet, delicious water down his throat, never mind that most of it sloshed over his chin and dribbled down his neck. Brett stared at his reflection in the mirror and damn, if he didn't look like an utter wreck. Hyung’s face in the mirror was scowling at him, but the cellist had a hand on Brett's waist, keeping him upright. Brett cupped the sticky heat from his palms against the cool damp of his wet cheeks. 

"Oppa!" He tried to flutter his eyelids but ended up simply closing his eyes instead. Brett's head lolled over onto Hyung's shoulder. "Am I heavier than your cello?"

"Please," Hyung snorted, "your skinny ass?"

Brett leaned back into the solid wall of Hyung, nose twitching when the taller man’s exhale tickled the shell of his ear.

"Come on, idiot."

Brett let himself be steered out the washroom. Hyung hoisted Brett up by both arms and dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. Brett's protest was half-hearted and he wasn't even sure if the protest made it from his brain and out of his mouth.

Hyung maneuvered Burrito-Brett around to get both of them under the covers, and Brett tried to help by doing absolutely nothing. When they finally got settled, Brett squirmed under the duvet, head pillowed in the crook of Hyung's arm. The cellist nestled around the violinist's smaller form, nuzzled his nose into the nape of Brett's neck.

Brett started to doze off again but jerked awake suddenly. "Is this what you wanted?" The question was past his lips before he fully knew what he was asking.

"What?" Hyung yawned and hooked a long leg over Brett's hip. And somehow, he knew, too, what Brett was asking. "The orchestra? Hell yeah."

Brett thought of his wavering _yes_ when Hyung had asked. Such a thin, weak thing. He wanted something that wouldn't fray and snap like a worn string. He wanted a truth that didn't need to have someone else's name attached to it, a truth that was just his own.

"Hell yeah," Brett croaked weakly and his eyes grew hot. "Hell yeah," he said again, and giggled. "Hell yeah!" His voice cracked and then he was crying and also laughing at the same time because he wanted this, didn't want this, but had to make a choice anyway. If there was a life before this particular want, he didn't remember it, and it didn't matter now. There were so many more things to want in the present, in the future, stretching out all in front of him. And he wanted to want them. Wanted to know what it was like to have all the different wants that were new and different and his.

"Damn right," Hyung's voice was low and warm in Brett's ear and the unwavering beat of his heart pulsed against the curve of Brett's spine. "Hell yeah."

\----

Orchestra members were trickling out from the hotel lobby, and Brett milled about with the others at the parking lot, waiting for the coach that would take them to the airport.

Brett hopped onto a curb stop and extended one foot in front of the other, teetering. Hyung jumped up behind him, mirroring Brett's posture, arms outstretched. Brett craned his neck to look back at the cellist but pitched wildly to one side with a yelp. Hyung grabbed at him. The both of them floundered for a bit before regaining their balance.

"Thanks!" Brett placed his hands over the hands that were resting firmly on his shoulders. He risked another glance back. "It's so hard to keep my balance."

Hyung held him steady and smiled. "Luckily, I've got practice."


End file.
